


The Adventure of the Subterranean Silkworm

by doorrepairgirl



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorrepairgirl/pseuds/doorrepairgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Will Zimmerman investigates a minor mystery and Helen Magnus ends up with strange things in her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Subterranean Silkworm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/gifts).



"I feel like the junior camp counselor left in charge for the weekend," Will admits. "The _new_ junior camp counselor, trying to ride herd on a bunch of campers who've spent summers here since they were eight years old and know all the secret ways to sneak out of their cabins and probably have a secret stash of beer in the boathouse."

"I do hope you're speaking metaphorically about the sneaking out," Magnus says, smiling cheerily in the face of Will's suffering.

"It's a metaphor so far. Ask me again in another week and we'll see."

"Oh, calm down, Will. You've been left in charge before, this is no different. Besides, I thought you rather enjoyed being in a position of authority." There's that smile again.

"That was when I was naive enough to believe I had any authority," Will tells her.

"It can't be that bad. Kate's here with me, after all."

"And for that I am incredibly thankful, I assure you. But you'd be surprised at how hard it is to keep Henry in line when I don't understand half of what he's talking about. And don't get me started on the Big Guy. He decided to skip out on feeding time for the level three enclosures. I was almost dinner for a couple of our friends down there."

"Hmm," Magnus hums noncommittally in reply. Her eyes are clearly flitting back and forth to a different monitor than the one she's conferencing from.

"You'd better not be playing Bejeweled instead of listening to me," Will says. He's only half-joking; Magnus is notorious for her addiction to the game. She says it helps her process complex data sets to distract her frontal lobe with simple, repetitive actions. Will suspects it's a lingering effect of her Victorian upbringing that she's so fascinated by shiny objects.

"You'd better not have called me on official channels just to complain about your insecurities as a leader," Magnus replies smoothly. In the background there's a faint pinging noise and Magnus' smile falls away. "Damn!" she says vehemently. Will can hear the frenzy of mouse-clicking that ensues as Magnus tries to recover from whatever catastrophe has befallen her mine, but judging by her expression it's a lost cause. Finally the clicking ceases and Magnus turns her attention back to Will. She looks rather cranky and Will suspects that now would probably be a good time to stop making fun of the boss.

"My condolences for your loss," Will says as solemnly as he can manage.

"I hope the kids throw you in a lake," Magnus says before severing the video connection.

 

\- - - - -

 

Henry stops by Will's office and drops off a small package. It's addressed to Will Zimmerman, but it doesn't have a postmark, or a street address for that matter.

"Where'd this come from?" Will asks before Henry can make his escape.

"Somebody dropped it off for you," Henry says with a shrug. He's carrying a bowl of popcorn, a DVD, and a blanket, so it's a pretty dangerous maneuver.

"When?"

"I don't know," Henry says, "Earlier. I was busy so I just held onto it until I was ready to come upstairs. If you could be bothered to come down and answer the door yourself you'd have gotten it quicker."

Will nods like he's agreeing that he _could_ answer the door, but seriously, it's like three flights of stairs and two miles of hallway to the front door. You can barely hear someone knocking from the other end of the entrance hall, let alone from the upper stories. Which is why Henry, the person most likely to be monitoring the external cameras at any given moment, ends up accepting nearly all guests and deliveries. And why any deliveries involving food are likely to have some samples removed before finding their rightful owners.

"Did you get a name?"

"No, man. Why don't you just open it and see if there's a note? It's not ticking, and I scanned it in my lab to make sure it wasn't radioactive or perishable," Henry says impatiently.

"I'm guessing it's not _perishable_ or you'd have already helped yourself," Will mutters as he slits the packing tape with a pair of scissors from his desk. He opens the box and rifles through some packing material to find a heavy, leather bound book. He sets the book on his desk and pulls all the crumpled paper out of the box, but nothing resembling a card or note appears. He opens the book gingerly and leafs through it backward, but there's nothing stuck between the pages. When he reaches the front cover he stops, certain he can't be seeing what he thinks he's seeing.

"Wow," he says, looking up, but of course Henry's taken advantage of Will's distraction to sneak away. Not that Will can blame him; they all know it's a bad idea to get between the Big Guy and his popcorn on movie night. Henry's hardly the ideal audience for this kind of moment anyway. Unfortunately the best audience for the moment is on the other side of an ocean and possibly still annoyed with him.

 

"Hello, Will," Magnus answers the video conference request almost immediately, despite the fact that it's five in the morning in London.

"Hi," Will answers, trying to school his expression a little in response to Magnus's rather alarming appearance. "Looks like you had a rough day."

"Oh?" Magnus says, touching her hair with an air of forgetfulness. Her fingers come away trailing a long strand of some yellow, sticky-looking substance. "Oh, yes. I suppose I got a bit caught up in the analysis and forgot to get myself entirely cleaned up. Although really, Kate got the worst of it."

"I hope you took pictures," Will says.

Magnus laughs a bit at that, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I didn't think to document the occasion. We were a bit tired after five hours tracking what turned out to be an enormous silkworm back to its nest."

"A silkworm?" Will repeats the word, trying to wrap his brain around the image.

"That's exactly what Kate said," Magnus tells him. "Right before it exploded."

Will sits for a moment in stunned silence. "Do you... Did Kate shoot it?"

"No, Miss Freelander handled herself quite well in the situation," Magnus says, sounding pleased. "I'm still running tests to determine whether this was a natural mutation that was simply untenable once the creature grew to full size, or if it was the product of some specific experimentation."

"Huh." Will's starting to put the pieces together here, but he really does have to ask. "So, the, uh," he makes a gesture indicating the top of his own head, "Is that a product of the, um, event?"

"If you're asking whether I have giant silkworm guts in my hair, the answer is, unfortunately, yes."

"That's disgusting," Will says. Magnus raises her eyebrows in a look Will has learned to translate as a polite version of 'duh.' "But you ended up with silkworm guts only in your hair... because Kate was standing in front of you."

Magnus nods, a rueful smile on her face. "I really shouldn't have told you about that. She was quite unhappy at the time."

"You've both seen me covered in worse," Will points out, "I'm just hoping you'll have showered several times before you get back here."

"It's at the top of my to-do list, I assure you," Magnus says. She turns away from the monitor, not quite managing to hide a yawn.

"I should really let you go," Will tells her. "Sorry for calling so late."

"Oh, that's right," Magnus says, always more easily distracted when she's tired and coming down off an adrenaline high. "Why did you call? Still having trouble with the inmates?"

"No one threw me in the lake, if that's what you mean."

"Well, that much I'm glad to hear," she says, and it sounds like she means it. "You just need to relax, Will. Isn't it Saturday? What happened to movie night?"

"Henry happened to movie night," Will explains, "While I respect the movie choice democracy movement, with only three staff members present Henry and the Big Guy are a bit of a voting bloc, and I've seen _Tron_ about as many times as I can stand for one year."

"Oh dear," Magnus says, attempting to pass off her laughter as a coughing fit. "Excuse me."

"Laugh as much as you like, but I didn't actually call you to complain about Henry's questionable taste in cinema," Will tells her. He hefts the book up off the desk and opens it so the inscription inside the front cover faces the camera. "Can you read that?"

"Barely," Magnus answers, and Will moves the book closer until she says, "There, stop," and then, "Oh my, that is singular."

"So it's authentic?" Will asks, just barely this side of holding his breath while he awaits a ruling.

"I really can't say until I see it in person, of course," Magnus hedges, and Will pulls the book back, peering closely at the fading ink on the yellowing paper. "But I would say that it's a very strong possibility."

"You knew him though, didn't you? I mean, you and Watson talked about the stories being modeled after him..." Will's finger hovers over the inscription as he reads it again. _I will never understand your great fondness for these silly tales, but I treasure your kind words always. Arthur Conan Doyle._ He closes the book and examines the cover, which reads simply _Tales of Sherlock Holmes._

"I met the man once or twice, Will, but I wouldn't say I was close with him by any means. James was always a bit uncomfortable with the attention, and I think by the end Conan Doyle rather felt he'd made a deal with the devil. Not the friendliest situation by any means," Magnus says, shrugging. "I'm sorry I can't give you anything more concrete."

"No, it's fine. I'm actually more curious who sent it, to be honest," Will admits. "I thought it might be from you since you're back in your old stomping grounds."

"Much as I'd love to claim it as a very early birthday gift, I'm afraid I've never seen that book before," Magnus tells him, "Though I wouldn't have bothered mailing it since we'll likely be back in two or three days, barring any bizarre test results."

"That's the funny thing, it wasn't mailed to me; somebody dropped it off in person, but Henry wouldn't give me any details," Will says, and it's true, he really does only call Magnus to complain, doesn't he?

"Did you ask him to show you the video from the front door security cameras?" Magnus asks offhandedly, and Will could smack himself in the forehead. One hundred and fifty-eight years old, operating on undoubtedly twenty-four hours or more without sleep, and Helen Magnus is still quicker than he is on his best day.

"I... will do that in the morning," Will says, trying not to sound like the slowest kid in class, "I think I really will get tossed in a lake if I go in there and interrupt the movie right now."

"A wise move," Magnus says. This time the yawn catches her by surprise too quickly for her to cover it.

"Go," Will says, waving her away, "Go clean up and sleep, your giant worm DNA will still be there in the morning. Or, you know, afternoon."

"There's that voice of authority," she says lightly. "Good night, Will. Do let me know if you solve your little mystery."

"Good night," Will replies, but Magnus has already cut the connection.

 

\- - - - -

 

Henry's not in his cave of technological wonders the next morning when Will ventures downstairs to ask about the security footage. It's not worth the risk of screwing up something vital to the continued operation of the Sanctuary for him to poke around trying to find a way to access the feed himself, so Will goes hunting.

He find the Big Guy in the main kitchen making pancakes.

"Those smell amazing," Will says, and the Big Guy grunts encouragingly toward a small stack of plates on the counter. "Only if you're sure there's enough to go around," he says, even as he snatches up a plate and thrusts it toward the griddle.

"There's maple syrup in the ice box," the Big Guy says. Will's not sure he'll ever get used to hearing such mundane statements delivered in such a grave, measured voice.

"Thanks," Will says, setting the syrup on the table. He automatically goes to get out five sets of silverware, quietly slipping two sets back into the drawer when his brain catches up with his hands. "Where's Henry?" he asks, just to hear some noise in the big empty kitchen.

"Still sleeping," the Big Guy answers, huffing a small sound that might be laughter as he flips the next round of pancakes.

"Did you guys stay up late again taking shots of Jaeger and debating the representation of faith and religion in _Tron_?" Will asks. He's not joking.

The Big Guy huffs a noise that means "yes, and I won." He's not joking either. This becomes painfully evident when Henry stumbles into the kitchen twenty minutes later.

"Good morning, Henry," Will says from where he's standing at the sink, rinsing off his plate.

"Never again," Henry mutters, slumping into a chair and resting his forehead on the table. The Big Guy huffs a noise that's half sympathy and half laughter, and sets down a plate of pancakes, two white pills, and a large glass of water. Henry moans quietly when the plate clinks against the silverware.

"This is probably not the best time," Will says, approaching the table slowly, "But I need to ask you a favor, Henry..." Henry holds up his left hand and makes a surprisingly clear _no talking_ sign. Will stops talking. Henry lifts his head off the table, pops the two pills in his mouth and follows them with half the glass of water. He peers at the plate of pancakes, apparently weighing his odds of keeping down solid food. Eventually he picks up a pancake and takes a small bite.

"Okay," Henry says, waving the pancake vaguely in Will's direction. His voice sounds rough and he's speaking very deliberately. "What's the favor and does it require me to change out of my pajamas?"

"I need to see security footage from the front door cameras from yesterday afternoon," Will tells him, "and no, there's no need to change. Pajamas fit the dress code just fine."

"Good, 'cause that part's non-negotiable," Henry says, taking another delicate bite of his pancake.

"Okay then," Will says, "I guess I'll meet you down there in, say, half an hour?"

"Forty-five minutes," the Big Guy mutters, and watching the tiny bites Henry's taking Will revises his estimate up even further than that.

"Yeah, you know what? Just call me when you're ready."

 

\- - - - -

 

Will heads up to his office and gets caught up in reading some of the more outlandish material from Magnus' collection of literature regarding the study of abnormals. He's thoroughly engrossed in a report of a reptilian creature purported to grow to two or three meters in height in its optimal climate when his computer monitor buzzes to let him know someone's calling. He hits a button to allow the connection and is surprised for a moment to see Henry's face instead of Magnus'.

"Hi, Henry," and if it's not the smoothest greeting ever, Henry's not really in a position to judge. He's regained a bit of color in his face following breakfast, but he's still not his usual energetic self.

"Hey," Henry answers, "So I got you that video from yesterday. I assume you're still trying to see about that package, so that's where I cued it up. I'm sending the feed to your monitor... now. Wait, crap, hold on..."

A shot of the front doorstep replaces Henry's face on the screen, and Will smiles as he gets a good look at the man stepping up to the door. "Can you still hear me, Henry? This is perfect, I know exactly who that is," Will says, laughing a little.

"What do you mean? This isn't the right footage, I think I crossed some cables, hold on a minute..."

Will leans closer to the monitor, and sure enough the man in this image isn't carrying anything at all. He's standing back from the door, looking around -- checking for an address, maybe; as if the Sanctuary could possibly be mixed up with the other enormous stone mansion down the street -- but he soon steps up and knocks on the door.

"I'm coming down, Henry!" Will says, grabbing the book off his desk and darting out of the room.

 

\- - - - -

 

"Kavanaugh!" Will calls from the far end of the entry hall. He's slightly out of breath from dashing down all those stairs, and from the look of it Henry and Detective Joe Kavanaugh have already been standing around waiting for him for a couple of minutes.

"Hey, Zimmerman, it's been a while," Kavanaugh says with a smile. Will shakes his hand when they meet up in the center of the room.

"Nice to meet you, Joe, but I'm gonna head back..." Henry waves vaguely and then retreats back to the safety of his lair.

"So, uh, is there a reason a guy in pajamas just answered the door at 10:30 AM on a Thursday?" Kavanaugh asks, evidently growing more dubious by the minute about the operation Will has joined up with.

"Well, the boss is kind of out of town," Will says, and Kavanaugh nods slowly. "And, you know, Henry's our I.T. guy."

"Oh," Kavanaugh says, understanding dawning, "Yeah, that really should have been my first guess."

"Do you want to come in and sit down?" Will asks, realizing it's up to him to play gracious host. No backup from the Big Guy when muggles come to visit, as it were. "I can get you something to drink."

"Thanks, but no, I'm really just stopping in on my way back to the station. They gave me this new trainee and I sent him by yesterday to drop off something for you," Kavanaugh says, and Will raises up the book. "Yeah, only today I get in my squad car and find this on the passenger seat." Kavanaugh reaches into his pocket and produces a small card, which he hands to Will. _Saw this and thought of you. Take care, J. Kavanaugh_

"I'll admit I was a little confused," Will tells him, "I'm usually pretty good with mysteries but I hadn't quite made a start with this one."

"Yeah, from now on I'll give the rookie the real simple jobs like filling out paperwork and arresting criminals, and I'll handle the complicated stuff like assembling packages."

Will laughs. "Sounds like a fair division of labor to me." He looks from the card to the book back to Kavanaugh, and he has to say something. "Where did you even find this, Joe? The publication date says it's from 1904, it's in amazing condition, and I haven't been able to authenticate it yet but it looks like it's actually signed by Arthur Conan Doyle. It has to be worth a lot."

"Wow," Kavanaugh replies, his eyes wide, "Actually, the station was running one of those auctions -- confiscated items that won't actually be entered into evidence, unclaimed personal property, all that -- and I just happened to see the book when one of the assessors was sorting stuff out. She gave it to me for nothing, said it saved her the trouble of cataloguing it."

"Really, Joe, I can't take this from you. It has to be worth..."

"It's a gift, Will. And I know you're not going to sell it or anything," Kavanaugh says, with a supreme confidence Will finds quite flattering.

"You know," Will tells him, "I kind of hated the 'Sherlock Holmes' thing when I was working with you guys on the force, but now I... It's a compliment, and I get that. So thanks. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I mean, things are a lot less weird since you left. Or, I guess, since you came here. I think you guys catch all the weird stuff before it even gets to us."

"That is the goal," Will says, aware that he's skirting the edge of what he's actually allowed to say to people outside the Sanctuary network. Kavanaugh's still pretty quick; he catches Will's reticence to discuss the matter further.

"I really should be heading back," Kavanaugh says, nodding towards the door, "I'm glad you like the book, Will. Come grab a beer with me sometime and we'll call it even."

"Yeah," Will says, trailing Kavanaugh to the door, "We should do that sometime." They both know it won't ever happen; they don't have anything more to discuss than what they just covered in the last ten minutes standing in a hallway.

 

\- - - - -

 

Magnus doesn't call at all that day, and Will is busy enough with care and feeding duties, not to mention the Holmes collection and the fascinating article about giant lizards, that he doesn't fully register the lack of contact until he's just on the edge of falling asleep.

He has strange dreams; a dapper lizard in a bowler hat follows him through the halls of the Sanctuary, playing a haunting melody on the violin. When he wakes up in the morning he's humming a tune he can't quite place, but it makes him feel oddly unsettled.

 

\- - - - -

 

Will's sitting at his desk just after lunch, settling in with a different account of that same lizard species -- this one a more recent article, authored by Helen Magnus herself -- when his computer buzzes to alert him that he has an incoming call.

Magnus' face appears on screen at the push of a button. She looks decidedly less sticky and more rested than the last time they talked.

"Hello, Will," Magnus says brightly. She's evidently in very good spirits.

"Magnus," Will answers, "How are things across the pond?"

"Things are proceeding quite well, I think. I wanted to report in and let you know that Kate and I will be flying home tomorrow."

"So the Adventure of the Subterranean Silkworm reached a satisfactory conclusion?" Will asks in his best stuffy British accent. The pained expression on Magnus' face indicates that his best impression still needs some work.

"I would phrase it somewhat differently," Magnus says diplomatically, "But yes, I was able to determine that the silkworm was merely the result of a random, natural -- if rather startling and not at all advantageous -- genetic mutation. A bit of an anticlimax, really."

"Oh, I've got you beat on that count," Will says.

"Ah, that's right, your Adventure of the Anonymous Sender," Magnus says, smiling widely, "I take it you found out the culprit?"

"There were two culprits," Will tells her, "And I didn't find out either one. My mystery solved itself, and before I got a chance to do any solid detective work at all."

"How sad for you, Will, to be denied this fantastic mystery to liven up your mundane and uneventful existence," Magnus replies, laying on the sarcasm as thickly as she can.

"Yes, fine, I see your point," Will allows, "But like you said, it was a bit of an anticlimax." They both sit quietly for a moment, and then Will blurts, "I am glad you're coming back."

"The campers still causing you trouble?" Magnus asks with a grin.

"No, they finally settled down a bit. It's all the rest of it -- looking after this whole place, keeping track of everyone, and then on top of that keeping on the lookout for new dangers and new subjects who need help," Will shakes his head, frustrated that he's not saying what he wants to say. "You make it look easy, Helen, and it's really, really not."

"That's very kind of you to say, Will," Magnus says. "I suppose it's too much to hope that this epiphany means you'll stop making fun of me for playing my games?"

"Yeah, keep hoping on that one, lady," Will answers back, earning a sweet, uncomplicated laugh.

"I should let you get back to business," Magnus says, "Please let the others know that we'll be back soon."

"You know, I think I'd rather you show up to find Henry in his pajamas in the middle of the day and the Big Guy in the kitchen teaching himself to make crepes suzette," Will says.

Magnus raises an eyebrow like she thinks he's exaggerating the situation. "I suppose I'll leave that up to your judgment then, Dr. Zimmerman." Yeah, this option is going to be a lot more fun.

"Thank you," Will says, "Have a safe flight."

"Thank you," Magnus answers. Her hand is just reaching for the cutoff button as she adds, "Oh, and Will?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you too."

The video feed cuts out as abruptly as ever, but Will doesn't look away from his monitor for a long while, the image of Helen Magnus' sly, sweet, knowing smile lingering in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
